


The Devil's Daughter

by Val_Creative



Category: The Witch (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Canon - Movie, Childbirth, Dark, Dark Magic, Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Mating Rituals, Murder, Religious Fanaticism, Ritual Sex, Rituals, Semi-Bestiality, Sex Magic, Unplanned Pregnancy, Witchcraft, Witches, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22595761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: He never chooses a witch to be his. She should feelhonoured.
Relationships: Black Philip/Thomasin (The Witch)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 115
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	The Devil's Daughter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiriamKenneath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/gifts).



*

She belongs somewhere. At last.

New England shunned her. Shamed her and ridiculed Thomasin for acting as a young woman. Named her a dissenter. Accused her of being of vile sin while existing among them. She never cursed them. Never wished them ill or blasphemed her God.

_Thou willst live a maystrye of derknesse and delit and abjecte thy God?_

Within the fading taperlight, Black Phillip walks alongside her. As an animal, he bucks his head and lifts his many black horns, snorting. Thomasin can feel the stenching stink-hot heat of his exhale to her naked thigh. All of his molasses-sweet words echo.

_I shall._

He vanishes into the shadows, trotting.

She feels hands on her then, urging her legs apart.

His human-large fingers seeking the warm depths of her cunt and running over her skin flecked in her Mother's bright blood. Thomasin glimpses down, her cheeks flushed red. Boiled, hard leather as dark as mid-night encases his hand. The hour of fear and longing for pleasures unsought.

Black Phillip holds her, petting Thomasin's golden hair, soothing her and thrusting his quivering goat-cock inside her.

She cries out, loathing the sensation of his dark, prickly fur rubbing to her bare folds. He fills her cunt's walls, painfully taking her despite the animal-like smallness of his cock, rumbling out laughter at Thomasin's protests. Her sobs for air. Black Phillip does not alter his form, remaining a man in all but his hair-thickened, perverse groin, fucking her mercilessly until she loses consciousness.

*

Her sister-witches whisper gleefully to her soon after Thomasin joins the bonfire — his dark and magical _initiation_. She gave herself to the Devil to prove her idolatry to Him. Her worth. She allowed him to give her favour and lust and corporeal passion.

Thomasin knows he gave her something _more_ when her little pale belly starts stretching tight as a drum.

Worship. They _worship_ her, envious and overjoyed, bewailing a missed opportunity for themselves.

He never chooses a witch to be his.

She should feel _honoured_.

Her sister-witches drape Thomasin in wild geranium and purple nightshade flowers and thistles.

*

She kills a family like hers.

Abandoned by their colony. Looking for hope in the wilderness.

A father and a mother and a daughter several years younger. Her belly rounder and heavier than Thomasin's own. She confesses to her father stealing into her bed during the harvest, wanting a son that his barren, godless wife could no longer provide him, impregnating his daughter.

The daughter dies last, stricken voiceless. Her heart stutters, and then ceases.

Thomasin can feel the life still inside her, ripping her dead belly wide-open, pulling out a son and then another. Two boys covered in their mother's bright, warm blood. One of them squalls high-pitched and Thomasin uses a jagged, grey stone from the garden, bashing the infant's head.

It's all the same.

_Blood._

They bleed and they die and they rot.

She laughs and laughs hysterically, smearing the baby-gore over her pale, smiling face and her exposed nipples, and all over herself. Thomasin coats her hand in filthy, dark blood and strokes herself needfully.

It takes nothing at all to summon Black Phillip, herself trembling and moaning, as he approaches.

His goat-muzzle inspects Thomasin's pregnant stomach, sniffing red fluid dribbling there, licking her. His gentle, animal-hot tongue scrapes her.

_Thou art mine?_

_Yes_ , Thomasin murmurs deliriously within her thoughts.

His mid-night, velvet cape shelters her.

She's bend over, with Black Phillip's gloved hand pushing the side of her face harshly into the crudely-carved wood table.

_Yes, yes._

He plunges into her, fucking Thomasin from behind with his man-cock, hurting her, bestowing her with a growing, faint pleasure coursing through Thomasin's veins. He's smooth and unyielding, reaching down deeper than ever.

Thomasin whines.

She blinks out trickles of sweat and rotting infant-blood, helpless to his covetous desire. One of her hands clutches onto her swollen, aching belly. She's lifted and turned onto her back, arranged onto the wooden table, Black Phillip's goat-eyes pinned on her.

Those ghastly, pallid features are more _shadow_ than real.

He fucks her hard and deep, repeatedly slamming in until Thomasin shudders, teeth chattering. Her lovely, luminous eyes roll backwards. She explores between her thighs, finding him gone, and her cunt leaking onto the table.

Instead of his glorious, hot seed, crimson pours onto Thomasin's palm cupping herself.

Her labour jolts into existence.

She howls and shrieks in agony, feeling the burning of her muscles as what's _inside_ her attempts to leave the womb. Thomasin's legs part as more crimson gushes forcefully out of her. A torrent of blood. It spills onto the floor, gleaming bright and black in the moonlight.

It can't be her _own_ blood. There's far too much and even _more_ drenching onto the wooden table.

Spiders and insects creep upon her. Flies land to Thomasin's forehead. A low, demonic humming surrounds the room. Black rain and icy, thunderous wind blows open the shack's door. She can hear lightning crackling over the roof as Thomasin screams with effort, planting her feet on the table's unpolished surface and raises her hips, bearing down.

Black Phillip's fingers prod lovingly at Thomasin's cunt, squelching and scissoring her, waiting for the head as it emerges from the oozing blood. He grunts loudly when a wincing Thomasin pushes again with every bit of strength left, freeing herself.

It's a _monster_. Black scales. Leathery, massive wings. Glowing-red sockets where the eyes should be.

Thomasin whimpers out in horror, shielding herself with an forearm.

She looks back to the creature in Black Phillip's arms, and then Thomasin feels herself grinning and _delighted_ , holding out her hands for her newborn. Skin as pale as fresh cream. Two eyes and two chubby, soft arms and two legs.

Thomasin combs through her daughter's golden hairs, kissing her flushed cheek.

Sin _creates_.

A witch has arisen, more powerful than her sister-witches or Thomasin herself.

And they all belong to _her_.

*


End file.
